It was the marching
Heavy boots thumping through
What was once my city,
But a lot has changed here
Since the last march.
Sing ‘rare ole times’
And lighters five for fifty
‘till your throat is raw
It still won’t come back
And be our town again.
They thought hatred was orange
But it was only a way to mourn
What the tiger consumed
To bring us here
Where we should not be.
It reminded us of what we lost.
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